


Four Scores of Five

by Reprehensible_Content



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Blood, Cutting, Implied Uncle/Nephew Incest, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Muddler's father is called Boe, Self Harm Scars, although that's very mild, dark au, of more concern is the son-on-father violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 03:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20846462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reprehensible_Content/pseuds/Reprehensible_Content
Summary: “Uncle? Won’t you come here, Uncle?”The boy’s voice is light and high; eerie, almost. Hodgkins swallows and pushes the door open. He sees his nephew sitting atop his brother’s chest, dangling a knife over his face. The tip swings slightly like a pendulum; he can see Boe’s pupils tracing its movement.Muddler pats the bed with his free hand, giving his uncle a genial smile.“Come sit with me, Uncle.”





	Four Scores of Five

**Author's Note:**

> Usual warnings apply lads; please don't read this if it's likely to upset you.
> 
> Boe is one of the fanon names for Muddler's dad. This is a pretty dark AU (obvs) in which Boe has been an abusive dick, and Muddler is finally getting some well deserved revenge

“Uncle? Won’t you come here, Uncle?”

The boy’s voice is light and high; eerie, almost. Hodgkins swallows and pushes the door open. He sees his nephew sitting atop his brother’s chest, dangling a knife over his face. The tip swings slightly like a pendulum; he can see Boe’s pupils tracing its movement.

Muddler pats the bed with his free hand, giving his uncle a genial smile.

“Come sit with me, Uncle.”

Hodgkins’ heart is skittering, but he obeys. The bed creaks under his weight. Muddler takes his enormous hand in his own little paw and kisses his knuckles before returning his attention to his father.

“I was just telling my _papa_,” he spits the word with a bone-chilling degree of disgust, “that I’m not the only one he’s ever hurt. Am I?”

His father flinched underneath him. “No, son.”

“In fact, you’ve probably hurt my Uncle as much as you’ve hurt me, wouldn’t you say so?”

“Yes, son.”

“Roll up your sleeves, Uncle.”

Hodgkins panics.

“Muddler, please, I don’t…”

“Roll up your sleeves.” It isn’t angry, and he knows there’s no threat of violence, but he doesn’t dare disobey him a second time. All the same, he can’t stop himself from crying at the sight of his ruined forearms as he pushes his sleeves up to the elbow.

“It’s alright,” Muddler coos. He presses his lips against the puckered surface, littering the scars with kisses in little wet smacks. “It’s alright, I promise. You’re lovely. I love you, Uncle Hodgkins.” There is love in his beautiful round eyes. Hodgkins breathes, and it helps.

“Look.” Muddler takes his uncle’s wrist and extends an arm for Boe to survey the self-wrought destruction. “Look at what you’ve done.”

“But that- that wasn’t me!” Boe protests. “He did that to himself, which is what he gets for being a weak-minded…”

Muddler spins the knife around in his hand and breaks his father’s nose with the handle.

“Don’t you _dare_ speak to my Uncle like that again,” he hisses. “What do you say?”

“No son, I won’t son,” Boe splutters, choking on blood. 

“And to Uncle?”

Boe glares at Hodgkins. “Sorry, _brother_.”

Muddler tuts. “Better. Now.” He takes Boe’s wrist in his free hand and holds it out to Hodgkins.

“Take his hand, Uncle,” he says. “If he tries to move, break his fingers.”

Hodgkins obeys. As he does so, Muddler holds the knife between his teeth and counts the stripes on his arm with walking fingers.

“16, 17, 18… Oh, Uncle.” He removes the knife to lean up and peck Hodgkins on the cheek. He looks down at his father. “We’ll round that up to 20.”

“What… what are you…”

Muddler interrupts his father by pulling the skin of his forearm taut and drawing a red line across its surface. His father screams and tries to yank his arm back only for Hodgkins’ grip to tighten with a threatening crunch.

“Muddler… Muddler, my boy, please stop!”

Muddler ignores him and draws another line.

“Stop, please, I beg you…” His wild eyes meet Hodgkins’ own. “Hodgkins! Hodge, baby brother, please, stop him…”

Hodgkins remains impassive, watching as his nephew scores his brother’s arm like a joint of meat. The blood is bubbling up from the cuts and running in rivulets to pool at his elbow.

“I’ll die! Please, Muddler, I don’t want to die, I don’t…”

“Shut up.” He shrieks as Muddler makes a particularly deep cut. “You won’t die,” his darling boy sneers. “You don’t deserve it. Now be quiet.”

Boe obeys as best he can while blubbering like a baby, forced to wait until every agonizing mark has been made. Muddler leans back to admire his handiwork; four scores of five, laid out neatly up his arm.

“There,” he smiles, “now you won’t ever forget what you’ve done.” He rolls off his father’s chest and onto his uncle’s lap. When Boe doesn’t move, he rolls his eyes.

“Well, what are you waiting for? _Get out_.”

Boe doesn’t hesitate this time, scrambling off the bed and fleeing the room with his wounded arm clutched against his chest. Muddler watches him go with some satisfaction, then turns to look up at Hodgkins.

“I’m tired,” he sighs. “And messy. Shall we have a bath, Uncle?”

Hodgkins lifts him up in his arms.

“Yes. That would be nice.”


End file.
